


The Very Bad Ending

by Relvetica



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Blood, Gratuitous Blood, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvetica/pseuds/Relvetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are the twenty-first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Very Bad Ending

She didn't have anything as useful as hedge clippers or good scissors, so in the end Walter used a box cutter he found in the living room. It was much slower without a hinged blade. He had to wedge it down into the joints and pry the bones apart instead of just clipping them free; it added nearly another hour to what had already taken long enough.

Walter dropped Henry's left hand to the bedspread and picked up his right. Henry whined low in his throat and twitched his free arm uselessly. It flopped off the side of the bed at an angle and dangled.

"No," Walter said, and firmly moved Henry's arm to his side again.

He'd laid Henry's shirt on the floor to catch everything that was not the image, just to keep it out of his way while he worked. It leaked through to the carpet, but nobody would see it. He spread Henry's fingers out over his palm, where they shook and tried to curl back in.

"We're almost finished," Walter said. He held the box cutter's cracked plastic case between his teeth for a moment as he ran his other hand over Henry's, soothing his fingers straight again. "Almost finished. Almost done." The words came out muffled and obscured.

Henry choked. "Almost done," Walter said again, taking the blade again and pressing it down into the second knuckle of Henry's forefinger. Henry's entire body spasmed, but only weakly, easily held down by Walter's weight across his hips. The connective tissue within the joint gave, and Walter twisted the thin bit of metal until the bones separated with a wet snap. He cut away what he'd loosened and dropped it over the side of the bed with the rest.

Henry's breath was fast and labored, hot and metallic. It brushed Walter's cheek and rustled in his hair when he leaned over him; as Walter readied the next finger, Henry tried to speak. His voice was all vowels; his swollen tongue and lips couldn't cut the sounds into individual words.

"You're the Receiver of Wisdom," Walter said.

A bloody froth bubbled at the corners of Henry's mouth. Walter wiped it away with his fingers. "You bear witness, and then you're separated from the flesh." He slicked Henry's hair away from his forehead. "That's all. But we have to do it right."

Henry winced away from Walter's hands, but the movement was little more than a tick in his neck. His voice had died into a wet whisper; his lips moved, but nothing made it past them. "You can see her," Walter said.

Another weak twitch. Walter shrugged and took Henry's hand again, picking up where he'd left off. "It's been getting harder and harder for you to remember things. I know. You probably can't remember anything outside." The box cutter's blade bit into cartilage. Henry's body jerked again in involuntary defense.

"There was a ritual for me, too. I had to do it by myself. You're lucky." Walter sawed through ligament and skin and then tossed the broken piece onto the floor, where it hit something with a very wet sound.

The bedspread was saturated with blood in places. Walter could feel it soaking the knees of his pants. They'd have to hurry. Henry shuddered whenever Walter shifted his weight, but he didn't try to escape. He'd let Walter lead him back here with nothing more than a spooked stare and occasional violent start. Walter almost envied him, and he certainly felt a sort of fondness for him. The Receiver of Wisdom would know everything holy in the end. He understood, even if he didn't like it.

His last three fingers were harder, because the box cutter's blade was beginning to dull. Walter ended up having to use the pliers on Henry's thumb, which was clumsy and went against the exact word of the scripture, but he was sure he had been granted a bit of clemency now. They fell onto the sodden shirt one by one, plop plop plop. Walter dropped Henry's hand; it tried to clutch pathetically at his sleeve, but it only smeared blood and fell.

"Almost done," Walter said, and he laid Henry's hands at his sides again.

He pried the box cutter open; the screws squeaked a little as he loosened them, and Henry's head twitched in the direction of the sound. The blade popped out into Walter's hand. It wasn't holding up well, but it would do.

Henry barely reacted. Walter felt as though he could have continued carving the numbers into the man all night, over every inch of unmarked skin. Two one slash two one slash two one slash two one slash two one slash two one. He grinned.

"Can you still hear me?" he asked the body on the bed.

Another twitch, a weak cough. Walter leaned forward and pressed his hands to either side of Henry's head. "You are the twenty-first. You are nothing more than what has happened here. My witness. The last sign." Blood slipped over his fingers. "Henry Townshend is dead." He brushed his thumbs over Henry's lips. "Let it be done."

Henry shuddered and died almost obediently, like a child falling asleep.

They watched over him for a long time afterwards. He hadn't been her own, but that didn't mean she didn't care.


End file.
